


Secretary: A Black Butler Rewrite

by Rabid-Bunny (rabid_bunny)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, SebaCiel - Freeform, Secretary - Freeform, Sexual Assault, TW: Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabid_bunny/pseuds/Rabid-Bunny
Summary: He glanced at the coffee I made for him. “We only use typewriters here, not computers.”“That’s fine.”“It’s very dull work.”I smiled, “I like dull work.”
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Secretary: A Black Butler Rewrite

**Author's Note:**

> A rework/rewrite of the 2002 film Secretary. In this alternate universe, there are no binary boundaries. Anyone can wear anything and be with anyone so these things will not be addressed beyond that. Thank you.

I got out of the institution the day of my brother’s wedding. I’d started to get used to the place; Breakfast at 8:00, classes at 2:00, therapy at 4:00 and asleep by 10:00. 

“You can call me anytime, Ciel. I will always try and be of help to you.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

For that reason, I was reluctant to go.

The wedding ceremony in my front yard seemed to drone on. I wasn’t sure if I was glad to see my brother happy. It may have been the dread of knowing all of my parents' attention would soon turn to me. That was never a good thing. He did look happy. That could be me one day. My stomach turned at the thought when an old friend welcomed herself to my table.

“Ciel.”

“Hey, Lizzie.”

She smiled something youthful at me. Had I worked to forget her while inside the institution? Probably not hard enough.

“Are you happy to be home?”

The question didn’t baffle me. I was just confused by what I knew the answer to be. She restated the question.

“I mean, are you  _ happy _ to be home?”

I leaned on the table towards her, cheap confetti flying all around us.

“How did you know?”

Her face softened with sympathy, “I know what you mean.”

The afternoon was filled with compliments and fare-wells to my brother. My mother hugged me tight, “we are so happy you are home.” I wondered if the worry in her voice showed on her face while she clung to me. My father waltzed around, greeting some and laughing with others. When he reached my table, his face lit up. 

“Ciel. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” I eyed the bottle of brandy in his hand. “I thought you stopped.”

His face fell a bit before being overtaken with another smile, “do you know how much we missed you?”

“I missed you too.”

As empty as my response was, it seemed necessary. I think a part of me did miss my parents. It’s just they weren’t really parents. At least they didn’t act like it.

The happy couple jumped into their decorated car. I watched from my bedroom window. Aside from the ‘Welcome Home’ banners that I tore down, nothing had changed. After all these years, everything in my room was still in its place. I reached beneath my mattress to find it. I pulled it out and set it on the bed. The day was exasperating and the sounds of my family existing were weighing on me. I opened the mirrored jewelry box. My fingers shook across a multitude of sharp objects; needles, razors, a pointed porcelain doll’s foot. Whatever could get the job done. I settled on the doll. There was something nostalgic about relapsing with an old treasure. I hiked my shorts up, pressing the sharpened tip of the foot against my thigh. 

I paused when I heard a car honk. I glanced outside just in time to see my brother ride off into happiness. In frustration, I threw the doll leg back into the jewelry box, closed up all of my tools and placed them deep into the draw of my vanity. I could be better than that.

That evening, I crept down the stairs to make a pot of tea. Before the water was ready, I heard it. My father was drunk and my mother had had enough. It was the same old story. He raised his tone and she shot back cruel remarks. Her voice trembled with anger as she reprimanded him for once again losing his job. He always refused to take responsibility. This, too, hadn’t changed a bit. They screamed and I watched from a distance until my mother was shoved so hard she fell onto the floor. My father looked up to see me staring from a distance. I could see it in his eyes, even while he was drunk. He wished I was my brother. Perhaps if I was, I could've stopped this mess. Without a word, he grabbed his coat and left.

As if following in his footsteps, I quickly took the hot kettle off the stove and rushed into my bedroom. Sitting atop my quilted comforter, I pushed the leg of my shorts up. Biting my lip and holding my breath, I pressed the kettle of boiling water against the inside of my thigh. My eyes closed with the severity of the pain. I was released. Quiet. Calm.

* * *

“Avoid the temptation of placing your fingers on the home keys by sight.”

I took a typing class. I decided that being stuck inside my house probably wasn’t the best for a recovering sixteen year old like myself. I was finally old enough to get a job. That would be fun. It’s what responsible people do. The instructor droned on. 

“Strike each key so that your fingers bounce with each stroke. Do not strike without thinking. Do not even attempt to steal a glance at your paper.”

There was something about the way my fingers flowed across the keys of a typewriter. The simple joy it brought me was enough to motivate me. I knew every word I’d typed was correct upon my page. No need in stealing a glance anyway.

“And… time! That’s it! Hand in your papers!”

I knew without seeing I had aced the test. Now there was one thing I could be proud of myself for. 

“I’m so proud of you!” My mother picked me up the day I received my certificate. Actually, she picked me up everyday. “I’m so proud of you, being out there in the world like this!”

The drive home was just as long as it was before I had passed the course. When my accident happened a few years before, we were in the kitchen and my back was to my mother. Upstairs, my father was just leaving for work at a department store. Because there was a limited amount of time that my mother’s back was turned, I slipped and cut too deep. I’m not sure how I could have misjudged. I’d been doing it since I was 10. I was in the institution for 4 years after that.

My certificate didn’t seem to change much, not even my mother’s paranoia. I came downstairs to see her locking away all of the kitchen knives into a liquor cabinet. She was embarrassed to see I’d caught her. “Just a precaution,” she said with a smile on her face. Without a word, I continued, making my way outside with my silver box of tools. I shoved it into the garbage can at the curb. That’s when I saw it. I grabbed the crumpled newspaper at the top of the trash to see the job listings page. New hope struck in me.

I spent the next morning searching through the ads to find the perfect job for me. I circled my best bet. ‘Secretary’. I was elated.

“I have never had a job before.” I spent that afternoon doing what everyone does before their first interview; rehearsing in the mirror. “I can assure you, I am very...excited about this opportunity.” My hand mirror was my best and worst critic. “Thank you.” I wondered if my face always looked so young. “Oh...Well, I don’t have any references  _ yet. _ But I think that the…” perhaps I had to get used to not glancing at the newspaper, “Municipal Tax Office would be a wonderful place to begin my...career.” 

It was perfect and I was perfect for the job. I knew it. I smiled at myself. “Secretary.” I could get used to that.

The morning of my interview had come. I slipped on some pantyhose and 1-inch black heels passed down from my mother. I admit I was a bit nervous once I was standing at the entrance of the office. I straightened my calf-length skirt, lifted my chin and marched inside. There was an empty desk, and no one in sight. 

“Hello?”

A woman suddenly came from around the corner. She was holding onto a box of her belongings and between her teeth was a small, yellow envelope. I went to greet her when she hurried past me. I swore I could see tears in her eyes.

“No, wait, I…”

Just like that, she was gone and I was alone again. I made my way further into the building. The next room was a disaster. Papers were thrown everywhere, folders scattered across the floor. I stepped carefully among the mess.

“Hello?” There had to be someone there. “ _ Hello? _ ”

“In here.”

A deep voice called from the last door down the hall. Stepping carefully as I could, I followed it to the head office. A suited man, sitting before his desk, looked up as I entered. Though he looked well put together, there was a nervousness about him. A quiet and controlled chaos. I marched right up to his desk.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He returned the greeting out of instinct, it seemed. As if he was on auto-pilot. When he just stared at me, I went on.

“Are you the lawyer?” That wasn’t at all how I’d practiced at home.

“Yes.”

There it was again. That stare.

I shuffled my typing certificate in my hands.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll come back later.”

“No.” He stood suddenly. It sounded less like an order and more like a plea. He really was a mess.

“No, stay.”

I nodded, giving him time to straighten and steel himself. The silence began to make me nervous again.

“It said ‘Secretary’. The sign out front.”

“That’s right.” He placed his hands in his pockets as he appraised me. “Any kids?”

The question caught me off guard. “No.” I definitely didn’t rehearse this.

“Do you plan on having kids?”

“No.” I could do nothing but stand there while he went on. This was it, my ticket to independence. I was finally doing it.

“Are you living in an apartment?”

“House.”

His eyebrows raised, “alone?”

“With my parents.”

He nodded in understanding as he slowly began to walk around his desk. “Any siblings?”

“My brother is going to live in the backyard with his husband, in the pool house.”

He paused, eyeing me again. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Have you ever won an award?”

“Yes.”

He came to lean on the edge of his desk in front of me.

“What did you win the award in?”

“Typing.”

He nodded toward the paper in my hands, “are those your scores?”

“Yes.” I smiled, handing him my certificate.

“Ciel…” he rolled my name around in his mouth, his tongue wetting his lips before slowly pronouncing my last name, “Phantomhive.”

When he looked up, his face gave nothing away. “Could you get me a cup of coffee with sugar?”

My breath hitched and suddenly, I was walking out of the office at full speed. I found the kitchen with little effort. This was to be my first task and I had to see it done perfectly. I found the coffee grounds with little effort, however, the water dispenser was empty. The kitchen was as untidy as the front room. It took me a couple of tries to reload the dispenser and although a good amount of water spilled down my front, I succeeded. I brought the coffee into the lawyer’s office along with a few paper towels to dab my soaked shirt dry.

“Do you really want to be a secretary, Ciel?” He took the coffee I made for him and escorted me to sit across from him in a set of chairs at the far end of his office.

“Yes, I do.”

“You scored higher than anyone I’ve ever interviewed.” He sipped the coffee I made for him, “you’re really overqualified for the job.” He placed the coffee I made for him on the table between us. “You’d be bored to death.”

“I want to be bored.”

He thought over my quick response. “I have a part time paralegal. All I need is a typist who can get to work on time...and answer the phone.”

“I can do that.”

He glanced at the coffee I made for him. “We only use typewriters here, not computers.”

“That’s fine.”

“It’s very dull work.”

I smiled, glancing at the cup of coffee I made for him. “I like dull work.”

He squinted as he began to appraise me once more. “There’s something about you. You’re…” he leaned forward in his chair gesturing with his hands, “You’re closed tight. A wall.”

“I know.”

He seemed almost surprised at my admitting it. He cocked an eyebrow, “Do you ever open up?”

I chuckled a bit nervously, giving thought to such a pleasant notion. “I don’t know.”

The phone on the table between us stole the smile from my face as it began to ring. The lawyer looked at me and pointed to the name plaque on his desk. Sebastian Michaelis. He then pointed to the phone in a hurried manner for me to answer it. “I’m not here.”

After a moment, I understood what he meant. When I lifted the phone, my hand slipped and hung it up. I swallowed in embarrassment and looked towards Mr. Michaelis who was watching my every move. He nodded, standing from his seat as he walked past me without another glance. 

“Less sugar in the coffee.”

**Author's Note:**

> rabiid-bunny.tumblr.com


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